


Beating Heart, Baby

by mydickisthealpha



Series: I Won't Blame You [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, flangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-27
Updated: 2013-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-03 20:27:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydickisthealpha/pseuds/mydickisthealpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rhythm hitches up when Derek smiles at Stiles, away from the eyes of his betas, something secret and just for him, and then relaxes. Derek stops tapping. Stiles heart keeps beating the rhythm for him. </p><p>Oh, shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beating Heart, Baby

**Author's Note:**

> A request for a drabble inspired by the song 'Beating Heart, Baby' by Head Automatica

Derek didn’t notice it at first. He was too busy almost dying every other night to really pay too much attention to the noises in his own brain. Ignoring hints from his own instincts until they became a problem was one of Derek’s biggest downfalls. See: Kate. 

Ignoring some things were good though. It kept him alive and not arrested for molesting the Sheriff’s son. This affection he held for Stiles was far from platonic and absolutely maddening.

He didn’t really remember when the dynamic had shifted… how Stiles made the transition from ‘annoying friend of stupid new beta Scott’ to ‘completely capable, smart, sexy-without-even-knowing-it potential lover’. It was probably in between the Alpha pack and the large coven of crazy witches, in between nights they spent huddled together over piles of books, searching for answers until Stiles suggested coffee and cookies. 

Maybe it was him letting Derek fall asleep on his bed as he clacked at his computer, talking lowly, the scent of the sheets overwhelmingly warm and soothing. It might’ve been when the new hunters were in town or the rogue werewolf fiasco, Stiles catching a wolfsbane laced arrow in his shoulder that’s intended target was Derek; or Derek letting the werewolf rip a hole damn near through his chest, standing in front of Stiles.

For all his efforts to stay detached and unavailable, Derek was still helpless as Stiles injected himself into his veins and raced like poison into the very heart of him. 

Today was different. There were no threats, no almost dying. It was suspiciously quiet, but, then again, most silence had been suspicious to Derek since his phone refused to ring with news from Laura. 

It was a steady, quick rhythm he tapped with his fingers against his thigh as he sat on the porch, watching Scott and Jackson spar, Erica, Boyd, and Isaac flitting around trees and then dropping for pushups. He wasn’t even thinking of it until Stiles’ piece of crap vehicle was clunking noise down his driveway, crawling out of his Jeep and making his way over, a wide smile on his face as he held up containers full of lunch. 

The rhythm hitches up when Derek smiles at Stiles, away from the eyes of his betas, something secret and just for him, and then relaxes. Derek stops tapping. Stiles heart keeps beating the rhythm for him. 

Oh, shit. 

“BLTS,” Stiles quirks his head up as he announces his gifts, “mostly the B, but I could add some D if Jackson would like to suck it, because I can see that!” Stiles’ head snaps over as Jackson is mid-mock, and Jackson lets out a fake snarl, Scott laughing. 

Derek doesn’t care. He is still listening to Stiles’ heartbeat matching the tempo in his head. Stiles looks over at him, smile dissolving at he takes in Derek’s stiff posture, the clenching of his jaws, and the flaring of his nostrils.

“Hey, you okay?” He reaches out to touch Derek’s arm, but Derek pulls back. 

“Fine,” he says quickly, ignoring curious looks from his betas as they hear the lie his own traitor heart announces. “Are you going to keep the sandwiches or let us have them?” They go on. 

He tries to ignore it again. It doesn’t work. 

The heartbeat is always there, and Derek wants to press up to Stiles when he’s near, hand covering his chest to feel the beat for himself. He wants to grip a handful of that tousled hair he’s grown out, work his mouth open with his tongue, taste his lips and trace the sharpness of his teeth. He wants to kiss his way down his pale neck, brush his lips against every beauty mark on the way. He wants to rut against Stiles, bring him up and make him unravel, trembling underneath his hands. He desires, more than anything, to let Stiles in and know Stiles inside-out.

He lies in bed at night, fingers itching to move, but he doesn’t let them. The worst part about this is that Stiles doesn’t want him, and Derek doesn’t find that a problem. Stiles should stay away from him, Stiles should have kids with some petite beauty that will be safe for him, should live a long life and just be happy. He doesn’t deserve to be stuck with someone like Derek, and Derek doesn’t deserve to have someone like Stiles. He’s not perfect, Stiles. He’s snarky and prone to pushing everyone else aside to focus on the people he cares for, and he honestly doesn’t know the right time to just shut up. Still, he’s passionate and insanely loyal, sharp as a whip, and braver than most humans have any right to be. 

He steadily starts to flinch away from Stiles, because just his touch alone is enough to make him want to give up his resistance. He doesn’t notice the stricken looks on Stiles’ face until Scott comes barreling, alone, onto his porch, trying to beat the shit out of him for no reason. 

“What the hell are you doing?” He holds Scott back with a hand to his chest, holding him up against the porch wall. 

“You’re hurting him,” Scott says, spits it out viciously, fangs bared, breathing heavily. His claws did into Derek’s arm. 

“Who?” 

“Stiles, you’re hurting Stiles! Whatever the fuck it is you said to him, Derek, you need to fix it,” he snarls then, pushing the hand away from his chest and leaving. 

Derek finds himself knocking on Stiles’ window not 20 minutes later, letting himself in after a moment of silence. The purr of Stiles’ heartbeat is a loud orchestra in his head this close.

“Stiles,” he says, and Stiles turns to him, face cold as he works his jaw.

“What do you want?” He asks, shuffling papers absently. Derek suspects he wasn’t even looking at them before. 

“Scott says I’m hurting you.”

“Scott,” Stiles articulates with venom, “should mind his own fucking business.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Derek admits, and Stiles snaps his head up, face open and vulnerable. He searches Derek’s eyes for a moment, before he sighs and looks away. 

“I know you’ve been through more than anyone can possibly imagine, Derek, I just— I don’t know how else to make you trust me.” He sounds small, and confused as he looks at his hands, sitting on the edge of his bed. Derek strides over, kneels in front of him, taking those hands into his own. The beat in his head flares to life.

“I do trust you. I wouldn’t let you anywhere near my pack if I didn’t.  I don’t trust _me_ , Stiles.”

“What does that even mean, dude?” Stiles asks, exasperated. Derek takes his hand away from Stiles’, presses it over Stiles’ heartbeat, which jumps into acceleration at the contact. 

“I can hear this beating from miles away,” he confesses, and it’s his turn to be open and vulnerable as Stiles looks down at him. He takes his hand away. “You don’t know what you do to me, Stiles, and I’ve been trying to push you away so I don’t give in and do something stupid. I know you don’t want me—”

“Wait, woah, back up, back up!” Stiles flails his arms out. “What do you, I mean, what— You want me? You don’t think I want— I need a moment.” He pushes himself up and starts pacing the room, muttering so lowly that even Derek can’t hear him. 

“Jesus,” he whispers as he straightens suddenly. He turns to look at Derek, who readies himself for the rejection even as he’s known it would happen. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

Well, that was not what he expected. 

“What?” Derek stands, eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Stiles decides and marches over, stopping just in front of him. His tongue flits over his own lips, wetting them, and Derek’s eyes are drawn to the movement. He watches those lips get closer until he can’t anymore, until they’re on his own, soft and tentative. 

He will be embarrassed about the noise he makes later, but his arms pull Stiles in, crushing him flush against his body. He keeps one hand at the back of Stile’s neck, fingers half-gripped in his hair, as he angles his head to catch Stiles’ mouth just the right way. He pours himself into it, every frustration in the soft nips of teeth, every fear in the caress of his tongue against his lips, and every ounce of his affection for Stiles in the way he draws him in, holding firm, but gentle. 

They pull away at the same time, panting for breath. Stiles holds a hand Derek’s face, his own eyes closed as he smiles. One of his hands in over Derek’s heart this time.

When Stiles mentions that the heartbeats match, Derek already knows.


End file.
